sansfoyyy

The axis of her spine, now oblique— curved as the single vein that crept along her neck— drew the mastic vertebrae away from the paragon I was acquainted to one childhood night. Labial tributaries shrouded her— leaving intravenous dowries beneath the lining of her kiss. I need not wonder why. The axis of her spine— now the paragon of obliqueness— drew me in with heavy breaths.

My eyes are heavy with the want of things unfound--back when I was a child one would not find themselves in this situation, or so I've been told and retold. My mind is heavy with the unwant of things unlost--you would not believe me when I say that I once saw the eyelids of a young Mexican boy etched with the date I would meet your maker--coddled by the closet that I only twice cleaned in the past few lifetimes. My feet are heavy with the unbirth of fleeting souls left behind on that road that led to the Liva marketplace two blocks from my bedroom--my Nana once told me never to go there alone and to never walk barefoot outside for there might

Tonight I drink and I will never drop. The cup I sip will never cease to fill. Inside my head these voices never stop. These fears come bursting with a painful pop; While screeching hordes of shadows do persist. Tonight I drink and I will never drop. The swish of liquor threatens my dear mop, Whose conversation never did I miss; Inside my head these voices never stop. From rooftop to rooftop I hear the flop, Of his mangled body that fell from grace. Tonight I drink and I will never drop. I heard you say you'd be back from the shop, To sing to me before I fell asleep; Inside my head these voices never stop. No need for tearful s

hasty pine needles fall like piercing rain upon cold, taut, open skin

clenched for an instant, the contours sprout, and wallop, in a luminous duplicity of indignation. ablaze with intentions of past reprieves, distinct thoughts burgeon and amalgamate in the middle of the deep dank night. like a child's first breath it buds from the moist mother beneath the hidden earth.

the child corrals the sun-drenched lake-- white from long-lived rays that tarnish colored stones by the shore-- in the silent early morning. the hollow grains of sand, jealous of the sharp green grass, envelop tiny freckled toes. the child corrals the sun-drenched lake, in the silent early morning. a rush of cotton blankets wash away lonely lake-side beads. verdant waves caress his tiny freckled legs. the child corrals the sun-drenched lake, in the silent early morning. caring waves part curls of hair with motherly intrigue. the lake corralled the sun-drenched child, in the early silent morning.

I am but a ghost; an ephemeral instance in time, a half-remembered thought, the blurred out face in seldom dreams, and shadow of a man on lonely nights, facing the dichotomy of its existence. I am but a ghost.

Paranoia sets in; the body shakes, the mind races, but there's no escape. There's no outrunning something within you. No use trying, no use trying. Let it engulf you, consume you, control you.

I have known your kind before— a knight's entrance, with a coward's retreat. You cannot run from your mistakes, they are cemented on your shield.

Have you abandoned yourself? Left your entrails out to dry? Does the residue leave more than caked on ooze, but fiery desire? From desire, start anew; walk towards the fire, burn what you knew. You are now left naked and exposed; a vulnerable strength, a delicate birth— shed of the bonds and shackles of the mind. Walk again; you are free to do so.